


Falling In Love With Needles

by sumomomochi



Series: The 'Verse in Which Dirk is Anime Horatio Caine [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Body Modification, Breathplay, Consensual Kink, Dom John, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Humanstuck, M/M, Oral Fixation, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Sub Dave, Underwear Kink, Voyeurism, i'm tagging things as i come across them in my editing whoops, marking kink, mentions of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s like... waking up with an extra arm or something. Awesome but weird as shit and suddenly really <i>real</i> and I don’t know what to do with it.”</p><p>In which John is awkward and Officially A Boyfriend (!!!), and then he learns things about Dave (and himself).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Maybe eventually I'll actually fight with pesterlog formats. Today is not that day.~~
> 
> Now presented in technicolour!~

You’re a little upset when Dave flirts with the girl working the cash register at the Taco Bell, making her giggle with quiet comments as he leans over the counter, waiting for your order. You hover behind him, doing your best not to glare at her.

Dave looks over his shoulder, grinning at you, and asks, “I do get to call this a date, right?”

“Uh, what?” Shit, were you actually supposed to pay attention?

“Aw, man, I don’t get bragging rights? Shucks, you’re breaking my heart, babe.”

You have no idea what’s going on. Dave turns back to his conversation with Taco Bell Girl, and you actually listen in this time.

“But seriously, ain’t I such a Casanova, taking my potential bee-eff out to my place of employment on our first date. Lookit me, so swank.”

The girl’s grinning so wide as she laughs at Dave, you could probably fall into her dimples and take a week to hit bottom.

Also Dave sort of referred to you as his boyfriend. And he works at Taco Bell?

You are extra confused now.

She slides a tray across the counter at Dave, and when he takes it, she makes an obscene gesture involving the Vulcan salute and her tongue, waggling eyebrows all the while. Dave cackles and picks up your food.

He nudges you into one of the booths in the corner of the restaurant, sliding in beside you rather than opposite, and digs into one of his tacos.

“Is this really a date?” you ask him.

“If you want it to be, sure.” He talks with his mouth full, the back of his hand to his lips as he does. It’s cute and his words give you butterflies.

“Who was she then?” You’re still sort of irrationally jealous, and you really hope she’s not like, a friend with benefits or a friendly ex or something.

“‘Radia. Probably the best thing about working in this shithole. Bitch is hilarious and totally scores me some real great shit. Pretty sure her sister grows or something. Bro’s adopted her as his favourite sibling.” He snickers, halfway through his third taco already.

The two of you eat in silence for a few minutes. You’re pretty sick of fast food in general, but you don’t actually come here all that often (no wonder you haven’t seen Dave around outside of campus) so it’s not too bad.

You make plans to steal their kitchen next time you’re able to come over.

**=== >**

You go back with Dave to his apartment, grossly full of shitty tacos. Dave’s brother is still in the living room and gosh, it’s awkward when Dave plops down on the couch next to him, obviously expecting you to sit down as well. You do, awkwardly, and as far from his brother as you can manage.

“Okay,” Dave says, “Official Boyfriend, John, meet Giant Douche, Dirk.”

“Only ‘giant douche’? Couldn’t you have come up with something more interesting?” his pointy anime sunglasses never deviate from the direction of the tv screen.

“Yeah, fine, thou art a frothy, sheep-biting harpy and also my dearest brother. Don’t be a cunt, okay?”

“Your Shakespearian English is a little rusty.” He turns his head now, towards you, and says, “I wasn’t joking, official boyfriend. Hurt my baby brother and I’ll shove your dick in a blender.”

Dave sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and you just nod because what else can you do when you’re threatened by real life anime Horatio Caine. Your boyfriend (!!!!) stands and drops the take out bag into his brother’s lap, grumbling, “Pleasantries over. C’mon,” and the two of you migrate back to his room.

He flops face first into his bed, his legs hanging off the end. His shirt’s ridden up a little and wow, he’s got a really nice butt. Not that you didn’t notice earlier, when you had your hands all over it, but wow. It looks really nice in jeans too.

“I should still have time to catch a bus back, if you don’t want to drop me off,” you tell him, shifting your weight awkwardly. You have no idea how it works when you’re dating another dude. If you had brought a girl out on a date, you would totally drive her back, but you’re two full grown men so maybe those rules don’t apply.

“You can stay if you want,” he says, turning his face towards you. It’s still really weird seeing him in the Ray Bans and realizing it’s _Dave_. It’s also really weird how he’s face down in his bed and still wearing them.

You shrug; “Okay.”

“Sweet. Turn off the overhead, will ya? And come snuggle me.”

You smile a little at that, flicking the light off. There’s enough street light filtering through his blinds for you to watch him crawl across his bed to turn on his side table lamp, and you make your way over to join him. You sit on the edge of his bed to untie your shoes and it hits you : you’re actually _dating_ a guy. As in, actually romantically involved. Somehow that freaks you out more than any of the other things you’ve done with Dave.

Twin thumps sound as Dave kicks off his shoes, and his shirt is thrown past your head in the direction of his closet, and then he’s kneeling behind you, hands on your shoulders and lips against your neck. You remember doing that sort of thing to various girlfriends, gentle and intimate in ways vastly different from how you’ve... _fucked_ him.

Oh god. You had _sex_ with him. Like, real sex, more than him sucking you off in a bathroom or jerking off on cam or filthy texting. Actual _sex_.

Holy shit.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quiet in your ear. His thumbs are kneading at your tense shoulders, and you swallow hard.

“I’m suddenly freaking out because you’re a _dude_ ,” you tell him, completely honest. His hands still, lead weights against your skin.

“Did’ju wanna... not?”

He sounds broken hearted and your guts twist up. Fuck. You _do_ like him. He’s funny and smart and undeniably good looking, and you _are_ attracted to him.

And he’s such a perfect sub for you, his kinks lining up almost perfectly with yours.

You twist so you can see his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands. He’s taken off his sunglasses again, warm brown eyes watching you sadly even if the rest of his face is impassive. You press your lips to his softly, as sweet as you can manage.

“I’m new at this,” you whisper to him, your eyes squeezed shut so you don’t have to see the hurt in his, “It’s like... waking up with an extra arm or something. Awesome but weird as shit and suddenly really _real_ and I don’t know what to do with it.”

He kisses you back, equally gentle.

“Your metaphors are fucking psycho.”

You snicker into his mouth and silently agree. That one was fucking crazy, yeah. Still, you tell him, “Been spending too much time with you.”

“Aw, babe, I’m flattered.”

The two of you are grinning into each other’s mouths, noses pressed together in a drawn out eskimo kiss. It’s really nice, actually, so you’re sure you like him romantically for more than his ability to sub for you.

“You really okay with staying over?” he asks you. You shrug.

“Yeah, why not?”

You strip down to your boxers without any noticeable hesitation (you totally did get lube on the front of your jeans, as well as your boxers, and you’re pretty sure it’s going to stain). He does the same, except his boxers don’t leave anything to the imagination (not that you haven’t seen him naked) and you can’t help but stare. He crawls under the covers, leaving you plenty of room next to him. You climb in with him and instantly presses close, head against your shoulder.

“This okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

He pulls the edge of his blanket up, wedging it under his chin with his fist. He’s wrapped his other arm around yours, tangling your fingers together.

You think he’s actually in love with you.

**=== >**

It’s sort of weird waking up in a bed that isn’t yours, especially when you’ve been herded almost right to the edge by the actual owner of the bed. Dave’s managed to sprawl out _right in the middle_ , taking up ninety percent of the bed, despite being a complete beanpole.

He’s cute at least, head pillowed on one of his arms with his mouth half open.

And he doesn’t snore.

You don’t have classes ‘til the afternoon today, and Dave seems to never have classes ‘til the afternoon, so you, cuddle close to him and let yourself doze back off.

When you wake again, you’re alone in the bed and Dave’s standing naked in front of his closet, hip cocked to the side. You’re struck with how attractive he really is, all lean muscles and narrow hips (and a really great ass wow). He’s no where near as broad shouldered as you, but there’s no mistaking him as anything but male.

He glances at you over his shoulder and smiles. “Morning, babe.”

“Morning.”

You feel like he’s supposed to be covered in tattoos too, with like, big ass wings down his back or something dramatic like that, but he isn't.

You ask him why.

He shrugs, pulling his underwear up his long legs, and tells you, “Not really my thing.”

“But you have lots of piercings!”

“This is not a lot,” he snorts.

“Yes it is! You’ve got like, four. And you want another.”

He outright laughs at that. “If you think this is a lot, you should see some of the people in the shop I go to. I could count probably up to a hundred, and that’s just what I can _see_.”

You balk. “On one person?”

“Naw,” he snickers, “That’s across the five who work there. Or four. Aranea doesn’t really count since, as far as I can tell, she’s only got her ears pierced once. Meenah’s got like, thirty in just her ears, on the other hand, plus like, six more in her face? Porrim’s got four in her eyebrows, and her labret, but I know for sure her nips are peirced. That bitch don’t ever wear a bra,” he laughs a little more, shaking his head at his thoughts, “And their other dude’s got eight in his mouth. He strings them up for Halloween. It’s fuckin’ gross.”

You guess you’re making a face at that, because he wheezes in laughter after glancing your way, leaning heavily against his dresser. He’s got a collection of bruises down one side of his neck and across his collarbone, vivid against his skin in the morning light.

He looks good with them.

“Anyways,” he says, fanning at his face like a doof with a grin to match, “found a toothbrush if you’re interested. It’s in the bathroom.”

“Cool.”

You’re a little.. uncomfortable, you guess, with how casual he is about this whole thing, like the two of you have been dating for ages instead of hours, and you pointedly, respectfully, don’t watch as he gets dressed (any more than you have). You turn your back so you can pull on your own clothes and then shuffle off to their bathroom.

There’s an unopened toothbrush balanced on the edge of their sink like he said, a hot pink atrocity from a local dentist’s office with one end crunched in like it was stepped on and a fine layer of dust. You piss, crack open the packaging and pick the lesser of two evil toothpastes -- your options were cinnamon or Barbie Bubblegum. You went with the bubblegum and you sort of regret it.

You can hear cereal being poured into a bowl as you creep back into the hall, wiping your wet hands on your pants. You shuffle out, hoping to hell that it’s not Dave’s brother out there. It’s not, and you sigh in relief.

“When’s your class?” He asks, stirring milk through his, what are those, crunchberries? Yeah, you think that’s what he’s eating. You sink into one of the chairs as he spoons cereal into his mouth, hunched over his bowl to slurp it up like he’s the world’s tallest four year old.

“Uh, two.”

“Sweet. We’ll have to leave here ‘bout a quarter to one, then, unless you need to go back to yours?”

You glance over at where your bag is, still leaning against the wall where you ditched it on your way in last night. You shake your head no, mumble that you should be good. He keeps fingering one of the hickeys you left, the one under his jaw, and it’s distracting.

He catches you staring and smirks; “I turn pretty colours, don’t I?”

You can feel your blush rising. “Sorry.”

“What for? Not like I don’t like it.” He pulls his hand away from his neck, biting his lip, “Would you like me to cover ‘em up?”

“No! Shit, no, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You flail your hands at him and he snorts, shooting his breakfast a lopsided grin. “I thought you had an image to maintain though?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, and that image totally involves a stupid hipster scarf.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know!”

You get hit with the full force of his grin instead this time, his hand back to touching the marks you left on him. “Why would I wanna hide your handy work though?”

You swallow hard, suddenly full of thoughts of a salacious nature. Dave’s grin turns mischievous, and then he’s running his foot along the inside of your calf. You hiss as he passes your knee and ascends your thighs until he’s pressing his toes against your junk. He never breaks eye contact. It is equal parts arousing and creepy as shit.

He snickers when you give up a tiny noise, face hot.

Then he drops his foot and goes back to eating his Captain Crunch like nothing ever happened. You whimper. He smirks and you grumble, “You’re an asshole.”

He laughs, “Yeah, but I’m a hungry asshole so.” Then he facepalms; “That did not come out right, fuck.”

You snicker at him while he finishes off his breakfast. He offers up his bowl when he’s done -- “Pretty sure it’s the last clean one.” -- and for the first time since you were twelve, you eat kiddie cereal.

Or you try to. Dave slithers under the table just after you pour milk into the bowl, pushing your knees apart so he can press his lips to your crotch. Your hips jerk against his mouth and the rumble of his chuckle is not helpful.

You’re only half hard when he pulls you from your jeans, but he swallows you down all the way to the root anyway. You don’t stay half hard for long.

The crunchberries you poured sit forgotten while he slurps at you. You are, apparently, his second breakfast, one he is enjoying greatly. You moan appreciatively. When you slide your fingers through his hair, however, he bats your hands away and pops off your dick.

“Dude, don’t waste my crunchberries.”

You dump your hands back on the table, fumbling for your cereal to spoon it into your mouth. It’s already half soggy, but you fucking devour it the same way Dave devours your dick.

This round is nothing like the previous times you’ve had his mouth on you. He is definitely in full control here and while it’s nowhere near as intense for you, it’s, shit. Great. It’s really fucking great. He’s really, really great at giving head. So great, in fact, that you don’t even _care_ that you dump half your cereal milk down your front in your haste to finish so you can _finish_.

(Actually, it’s not all that much. Your collar doesn’t even get all that wet, but your neck is sticky with diluted sugar as you wipe your mouth with the back of one hand and that’s the part you don’t care about.)

You drop the bowl back onto the table with a clatter. Dave looks up at you with a cheshire smirk, licking his lips and thumbing at the flare of your head. This time when you grab hold of his head, he lets you, and you drag his face a little closer to your junk while you take over for his hand. The tip of your dick bumps against his lips and his teeth with every couple of strokes, and he’s sticking his tongue out for you, making tiny noises everytime you touch him. He’s clawing at your thighs, wiggling on his knees in front of you. You yank on his hair, pull him even closer, and he gives a loud groan.

Okay, hair pulling. He’s never mentioned that but it’s definitely a thing. Fucking _wow_.

The way he’s panting against the head of your dick undoes you. Your hips twitch up, pressing your dick into his mouth as your orgasm hits you. Most of it is caught by his tongue, so greedy, but you leave a smear down his cheek, a splatter against his upper lip.

He’s shaking hard with a white knuckled grip on your jeans, panting.

“Please, please, please,” he hisses.

“Please what?” you whisper back.

“B-blow me?” The words catch in his throat with a hesitant question mark, and he repeats himself, desperate, “Blow me, please, please babe, I need you, please.”

You push at the table and it slides back with screech, giving you room to drag Dave up by his armpits. He follows willingly, groaning when you press your palm against the bulge in his jeans. When you nudge him back, he drapes himself across the tabletop without hardly any effort on your behalf. You rub at his erection hard through his jeans, enjoying the way he moans and squirms. He’s got one of his knees pressed against your side, the other propped up against your chair.

You suddenly discover that button flys are the best thing to ever be invented when his allows you to just yank the front of his pants open. Dave’s clawing at your hands, hips arching up into your every touch, and it’s fucking _hot_. It takes surprisingly little self convincing for you to lean down and press your lips against the front of his underwear.

It’s... weird, having a dick against your face, but the way Dave squeezes his thighs around your face and clutches at the table is well worth it. You mouth at him through his underwear a little more, psyching yourself up to _actually_ putting a dick in your mouth and..

And his dick twitches against your lips, Dave chanting, “Fuck,” over and over while he trembles under you.

You pull away when he slumps back against the table, breathing hard. He’s red from his hairline clear down to the collar of his shirt.

“Did you just come in your pants?”

He nods, looking, at most, only mildly embarrassed. Mostly he looks smugly satisfied.

Holy shit, you made him cream his shorts. You’re kind of proud of yourself.

You press your hand against his crotch again. He hisses at your touch and you find the puddle of jizz at his hip, soaking it up with his underwear. Your palm comes away sticky and, fuck it, you just wipe it on your jeans along with everything else.

He lies there jelly boned for a couple of minutes, you standing between his thighs. You end up rubbing your thumbs along his hip bones as you wait for him to catch his breath.

“You okay?” you ask. He nods again, eyes closed and mouth half open. “Well, you should probably go change so we can catch the bus on time.”

He nods again, wiggling into an upwards sitting position. He looks completely blitz, dazed with the intensity of his orgasm. You scoop his face up in your hands and kiss him, close mouthed but hard. He sighs happily and slides off the table, wobbling to his room. You follow, watching as he shucks his jeans and his underwear, using the latter to wipe off the last of his come, only to wander off pantsless to the bathroom. You stare at his filthy underwear for what feels like an eternity before you grit your teeth and snatch them up, balling the fabric around the wet spot and shoving it into your pocket.

You have never been so thankful for baggy jeans in your life.

**=== >**

You manage to stealthily swap his underwear from your pocket to your bag while he washes out his travel mug. You finger the crunchy spot on your thigh from where you wiped your hand earlier, thumb the wet smear along the edge of your pocket where you really did not do a good job of keeping his spunk contained. Your jeans are filthy, but the idea that maybe someone will recognize the grossness for what it is excites you a little.

You think you might also periodically remind Dave of the wet spots he’s left on your jeans, see how much that riles him up.

He turns back to you, steaming mug in his hand. His usual lack of expressions is ruined by the three hickies visible above the collar of his shirt and you still think he looks really weird without his nose ring.

(You were there when he flipped the ring up into his nose. It was really gross.)

At the same time, though, you like how you get to see Dave as he is, rather than the way he portrays himself to the rest of the world. You’re not the _only_ one to know how dorky this supposed cool kid is, considering how he was with that Radia chick last night, but out of all the people who fawn over him (and there are a lot, wow), you actually _know_ him.

And he’s silly.

He bee-lines towards the stairs, jogging down them instead of taking the elevator like a normal person. When you whine, he hollers at you over his shoulder, “Elevators are for the weak,” with one of his big ass grins that looks strange combined with his outside’s facade. 

“I’m okay with this,” you call back, leaning over the rail to watching him descend while you wait for the elevator.

Somehow, he makes it to ground floor before you, a little red in the face but hardly looking winded. You flip him the bird and he calls you a pansy, and the way he tries to quell his grin is really cute. You nudge your shoulder against him and tell him so.

“Aw, shucks, babe, you flatter me.”

He doesn’t try to hold your hand as the two of you walk down the block to the bus stop, doesn’t kiss you when you get there, and if the two of you are standing closer than friends might, it’s because it’s drizzling a little and the bus shelter is a little crowded. You don’t mind the spring rain, and you’re not sure if you’re thankful for the lack of pda or if you’re a little disappointed.

Then again, you catch a little old lady glaring at Dave’s neck and that makes you smirk a little. It may not be obvious that you’re the one who marked him up like that, but he is most definitely showing the world that he’s claimed.

The bus comes and both of you get on, touching your passes to the scanner. Dave lifts his fingers from his cup in greeting to the driver. You, in turn, smile and say, “Good afternoon,” before you follow Dave down the isle. He claims one of the sideways-facing benches towards the back, where there’re two seats side by side. You plop down next to him.

You have to transfer to a different bus after about a half hour, and this one’s a lot more empty than the last, despite it going across campus. It’s weird. You don’t usually take the bus to class, since your dorm is close enough for you to walk without any trouble, but you’d still expect it to have more people. 

It doesn’t. There’s maybe a half dozen people besides you and Dave, including the driver.

You end up sitting in the back again, and Dave passes you his coffee. You take a hesitant sip and he squeezes your knee. The coffee is lukewarm and too sweet for you.

“Oh, senpai, we just shared an _indirect kiss_ ,” Dave croons at you, his voice at a whisper. He paps one hand against his cheek and pretends to be bashful. You almost spit out the coffee, just barely managing to swallow only to choke on it instead.

“You watch way too much anime,” you tell him, wiping at your lips with a grin. He takes his coffee back and tries not to smile.

“How else would I know the proper reaction to all the dokis?”

You snicker and he wraps his fingers through yours.

“Gonna be hellaciously busy over spring break,” he tells you, back to his srs face, “Gotta save up some dough. I’ve set my date for getting my tongue done and I’m thinkin’ I’ll swap out the bling for something prettier while I’m at it.”

“Oh. Cool?”

“Yep. Thinking I’m gonna get a nice clicker, since you seem to like that one so much.”

“I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

He snorts, “My septum.”

“Okay. Still no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grins, covering his mouth with his hand. “Okay, so, I’ve just been wearing a retainer because it’s easy to deal with and I don’t have to take it out if I wanna look like I’m from the ‘burbs.” He pulls out his phone and slides over to the browser. His fingers move hella fast across the keyboard and then he’s tilting the screen towards you. It looks like a capital D. “That’s a clicker,” Dave tells you.

You’re stuck on the price.

“Holy shit, that’s a hundred bucks.”

“That’s the price one pays to be beautiful,” Dave sighs dreamily. You continue to gape at him and he snorts, “Hence why my life is going to be taken over by Taco Bell for a little. Probably gonna get something a little fancier, so I can be extra swank, plus my tongue and the new piece to go with.”

“So, uh. You’re gonna do it soon?”

“Yep. The twelfth of next month.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise because A) he had to schedule that far out and B) that’s basically your birthday.

“That’s actually right around my birthday,” you tell him.

“Huh, really?”

“Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingers squeezing around yours. “Wanna come with? We could make a date outta it.”

“Oh, uh. Sure.”

He smiles a little at that, thumb stroking over yours, and it gives you butterflies.

**=== >**

Every time you open your bag, you get a whiff of the stank of sex and you really hope no one around you notices.

Every time you open your bag, you’re reminded of the leftover sex crusted over on your jeans and when you remind Dave of it, you get a series of keysmashes in return.

**=== >**

Equius is in your shared room when you get back from your last class, his hulking mass making the tiny space seem even smaller. He’s working on something at his desk, big hands putting delicate instruments to use, and the room smells like solder and glue.

“Hey,” you say to him, dropping your bag on the floor. You nudge it under your bed with your foot, paranoid about him finding the contents.

“Welcome back,” he returns politely, focused on his work until you slide the window open all the way. He turns back to look at you then; “Oh, my apologies.”

“No, it’s okay,” you laugh, “It’s just really noticeable after being outside.”

He turns back to his work with ears tinged red and you settle on your bed, booting up your laptop. You do a little homework and chat with Dave and Jade and Vriska and, well. Mostly, you’re doing homework while Dave rambles at you and Vriska harasses you and Jade whines about her new boyfriend kicking her ass in video games.

Equius finishes up what he’s working on and you do your best not to snicker when he glances at the clock and snaps, “Shoot,” to himself. Even after nine months of rooming with him, you still find it hilarious that this giant black dude is so awkwardly polite. He carefully cleans up his desk, setting all his tools in precise order before he shoves his feet into his boots and bids you farewell.

You wait about twenty minutes after he leaves on the off chance he forgot something and comes back, and then you dive under your bed and drag your bag out. Dave’s underwear is crunchy at the front, stiff with dried jizz. You run your thumb along one of the hard creases.

EB : hey dave, guess what i have.   
TG : idk do enlighten me   
EB : your underwear from this morning >)   
TG : holy shit you perv   
TG : youve been carrying them around all day   
TG : im not sure if thats nasty or hot as fuck   
TG : wow shit i think im gonna go with hot as fuck   
TG : whatchu planning on doing with them   
EB : not sure yet. any suggestions?   
TG : tbh if it was me id huff them while i hump my hand   
EB : maybe i’ll do that then   
TG : omfg   
TG : fuck okay brb

He logs off and while you didn’t exactly find his dirty underwear arousing in and of themselves, his reaction to you having them has you shimmying out of your pants eagerly. You’ve got your dick in one hand and his crusty boxers in the other when he comes back online.

TG : okay shame shuffle back to my room officially complete   
TG : holy fuck   
TG : i think bro just about pissed himself laughing   
EB : wow you really like this, don’t you.   
TG : dude you have no idea you filthy fuck   
EB : did you wanna cam?   
TG : d fkaoshaighadf fuck i wish   
TG : my eyeballs are about to explode

You send him a call request anyways.

EB : you can keep your room dark, it’s okay.

He accepts and you nudge your laptop further down your thighs. You show the camera his underwear and he groans through your speakers.

“Fuck, John.”

You really like how much of an effect this is having on him. He’s a blurry purple-blue shape on your screen, lit up mostly by his computer, but it’s obvious by how his shoulder is moving that he’s jerking off. You lick your lips and press his boxers against your nose and inhale.

It smells mostly like laundry soap and sex, and it’s kind of gross, but definitely worth it for how Dave slaps a hand over his mouth. The way he’s cursing from behind his fingers is great.

He’s amazingly noisy while you jerk off for him, lungs full of the smell of his spunk. It’s all quiet, muffled, but constant, and you put a little mental check mark next to _this_ , whatever this qualifies as.

You pull his underwear away from your face to mumble him, “I should gag you with this.” You can hear him press fingers into his mouth more than you can see it, wet noises as he sucks on them filtering through your computer, and he moans. You get to see the twitch of his torso before his laptop slides off his legs, showing you dark ceiling instead, and you bite your lip as you listen to him gasp through his orgasm.

You pick up the pace, thumb wicking away pre to spread it around the rest of your dick while you clutch his underwear against your chest. You hold out long enough for him to right his computer because you know how much he likes watching you come.

“Jesus fucking shit,” he hisses at you when you’re done, using his underwear to mop up your mess, “How are you even _real_?”

“Um, very carefully?”

“Or you’re like, secretly psychic or something, holy fuck, if you ever actually gag me with my own underwear I think I might actually _explode_.”

Oh, wow. Okay holy shit.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tell him.

**=== >**

Somehow, sniffing his underwear while you jerk off grows on you. It’s weird and gross but even just knowing that Dave likes it so much makes it awesome.

You pass them back to him after the lecture you share with him, crusted over more with your spunk than his now. He goes red and lets out a tiny squeak of a moan when he opens the bag to see what’s inside.

The next day, he catches you in between classes, jogging over the lawn with his bag bouncing at his hip. Terezi and Vriska both give you questioning looks when he catches up, walking with you while he digs through his bag. He pulls out an envelope, one of the ones that are lined with bubble wrap. You peek inside and turn pink.

“Figured I owed you,” he says with a shrug. He just gave you a different pair underwear, in public, in front of your _friends_ , holy shit. Then he heads off, waving over his shoulder as he calls, “See ya ‘round, Tee-Zee.”

“How the hell do you know Dave?” Terezi asks with a laugh. Vriska cackles.

“Oh, we’re, uh. In a couple classes together. How do _you_ know him?”

She shrugs, “We dated back in high school. So, John. What sort of freaky thing did the cool kid grace you with?”

She waggles her eyebrows. You turn pinker. There’s no way you can wiggle out of this. Not with Terezi, and definitely not with Terezi and Vriska combined.

“Um. Underwear, I think.”

Vriska doubles over in laughter and Terezi raises her eyebrows at you. You shove the envelope into your backpack and hope they take your blush as embarrassment. It _is_ embarrassment; you’re mortified that they know you have a pair of Dave’s underwear in your possession.

“I did the old bucket of water over a door trick when I hung out at his place last,” you lie through your teeth, praying they take this as prank retaliation and not boner fuel, “And uh, heheh, he really got me back, wow.”

Terezi looks a little skeptical, which worries you, but Vriska shrieks with laughter, “Oh my gooooooood, John!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for potential squick factor over discussions of exploding organs.

You begged to have as many shifts as you could over spring break and you regret it. You’re on your fourth of the week, stuffing tacos while Aradia chats with John on her break. He’s taken to loitering through most of the day while you’re working, which is sweet, but also frustrating. Your boyfriend has gotten into the habit of staring at you while you work the register, blue eyes sharp with intent, and if you have to take another order for a grande chalupa with a raging hard on you are going to punch something.

You’re cleared to take your lunch and you strip off your hat with a sigh, bee-lining across the seating area to where John and Aradia are sitting. John scoots over and you slide into the booth next to him.

“Whatchu two talkin’ ‘bout?” you ask, sprawling out, one arm across the back of the booth and John’s shoulders.

“You,” Aradia replies, cheerful.

“Aw babe, you flatter me.”

You nudge John’s knee under the table with your own as he snickers. You can feel Aradia kicking her feet, knocking her heels back against the booth, and her red lips are pulled into a devious grin.

“She’s telling me about your first time on acid,” John tells you, leaning into your side, “Did you really think the bus was going to eat you?”

You drop your head against the table, wheezing in embarrassed laughter. Aradia snickers too, the evil bitch.

“He really did,” Aradia assures him, sounding way too chipper to be talking about your first big trip, “He was crying and everything. We had to call his brother to come pick us up.”

You smack your forehead against the sticky linoleum, groaning. John giggles, “That’s fucking adorable.”

“I was fifteen, okay?”

Aradia laughs harder, “You should see him on E.”

**=== >**

Your first day off again, you whine at John until he comes over. He does, taking way too fucking long, but he nudges his way through your door laden down with grocery bags. You raise your eyebrows at him. He shrugs and starts putting things away in your fridge, hardly phased by the katanas anymore.

“Figured I’d make you dinner.”

Your heart melts and you wrap your arms around him from behind; “Fuck, you’re sweet.”

He turns to press his mouth against yours.

“Yeah, well, you’ll be getting your tongue pierced soon so...” He trails off with a shrug and you laugh.

“It’s not like I won’t be able to eat after.”

“Shut up and let me be nice to you, fuck.”

You snicker and press your face against his neck.

He makes you watch terrible movies for most the afternoon. They’re not movies that are so bad the swing back to hilarious, no. They’re just flat out terrible. He laughs and kicks you every time you try to talk shit about them, so you content yourself with splaying across his lap, snuggled into his stomach. It’s an acceptable trade off -- your silence for the sound of his heartbeat and his fingers petting your hair.

Dirk comes home and coos obscenely at you as he crosses the room. John groans in embarrassment and you just grin.

“Dude, chill your nips. Just means he don’t mind you.”

“Uuuugh, but it’s embarrassing!”

You push your torso up so you can kiss him, nose to nose. “You’re cute,” you tell him. He frowns, eyebrows drawn together comically.

“Shut up.”

“But it’s true,” you croon at him, nuzzling his cheek, “Makin’ me dinner and shit, like a good little wife.”

“I’m not gonna if you keep teasing me,” he grumps and you snicker.

“I could tease you another way, instead, if you’d like.”

He groans and you kiss his jaw, then the soft part of his throat just under.

“Okay, no, don’t. I can’t cook with a boner.”

“Don’t see why not. You made me do it all last week, in _public_.”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at that, as you nibble on his neck. Your shirt has ridden up, his hands resting on the bare skin of your waist, and they’re wonderfully warm.

Then Dirk slaps the back of the futon and you jump outta your skin. Your knee slides off the front edge and takes you with, and the floor is unforgiving when you land.

“No mackin’ on the couch,” your brother says, mock stern.

You whine at him from the floor, “You’re a cunt.”

John groans in embarrassment and Dirk cackles, and you hear the fridge being pulled open.

“Oh sweet, beer.”

“You’re _welcome_ ,” John grouses at him. You hear your brother flick his cap into the sink and he comes back over with two extra bottles between his fingers.

“Okay,” he says, handing the beer over like it was his peace offering to begin with, “you can mack on the couch.”

**=== >**

John harasses you into helping him cook, setting you to finding pans and washing dishes. You’re not sure when the last time someone made something other than mac and cheese, but you’re ninety percent certain it was Rose back when she was still in high school.

“So apparently Aradia knows Jade’s new boyfriend,” he tells you as he chops things. You may not have all sorts of fancy kitchen gear like he’s used to, but your knives are hella awesome and his approving grin when he pulled one from the draw was adorable.

“Really? Who’s she dating then?”

“Some dude name Sollux.”

You cackle, “Oh, _that_ fucker.”

The knife stills in his hand as he looks over at you, “You know him too?”

“Yeah, we went to high school together.”

“Huh. And Terezi too?”

“Yep.”

“How do you _know_ everyone?”

“I socialize.”

He snorts and slides his nicely chopped onion into the pan. It sizzles in the oil he had been heating up and he doesn’t even twitch when it pops angrily.

“Okay, forget about all the stupid waifu jokes,” you tell him, leaning against the counter, “You are hot as _fuck_ cookin’ for me.”

And he is, holy shit. He’s just wearing his regular jeans and tshirt, glasses in the collar of his shirt so they don’t steam up on him, but the addition of a knife in his hand and the knowledge that he’s damn good at using it is hot. Really fucking hot, jesus shit.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He scratches at his jaw, shrugging and grinning and just all over bashful.

**=== >**

Dirk asks John to marry him when he learns that John cooks and cooks _well_ (and cleans up after himself, even). John looks like he’s about to implode from how red he turns.

You agree with your brother, and inform your boyfriend that you would marry the shit outta him for food like this.

**=== >**

It’s the night before your appointment with Meenah, and all it took to get John over was to inform him that you won’t be able to suck his dick for a couple weeks after you get your tongue pierced. He’s at your door within an hour, pink cheeked and with a bag full of spare clothes.

You laugh at him as you pull him inside. Dirk lifts his hand in greeting and John says hey, and it’s great and all that they get along but you’ve got a dick to suck, so you herd John back to your room.

He drops his bag by your door and you drop to your knees to press your lips to the front of his jeans.

“Wow, hi there,” he says, grinning as he runs his fingers through your hair. You undo his jeans, tugging them down his hips so you can mouth at his dick through his underwear. He’s soft under your lips to start with, and you fucking adore every little sound he makes as your ministrations get him hard.

You’re sucking at his head, lapping at the tip through his boxers, when he murmurs, “Fuck you’re a greedy little cockslut, aren’t you?”

You nod enthusiastically and rub at your dick with the hand not on his.

“So what are you going to do to earn my cock in your mouth, hm?”

You melt and gasp, “Whatever you want me to.”

He pulls your head away from his crotch and you still your hand.

“Do you, um, have any toys?” You breath a yes and he licks his lips. “Okay, then I want you to, to fuck yourself with one.”

You nod and he lets you go so you can stand on shaking legs. He turns back to the door, stepping out and down the hall. You hear him say, “So, uh. Might be a little noisy,” and then your brother replies in acknowledgement. When John comes back, he’s red in the face, his blush crawling down his neck. You’ve pulled out your box of fun and you wait patiently for him. He sits in your computer chair, legs splayed and looking every bit the dom.

You offer him the box and ask, “Which one?”

It’s funny how he looks surprised at you having multiple. He looks them over indecisively and says, “The red one?”

You bite your lip and pick up your vibe, dropping the box on your desk behind him. You toss the toy onto your bed, next to the towel you had the good luck to ditch in here after your shower. You have to kneel on your bed to reach your lube, which you add to the pile before stripping off your shirt. Your pants go next and you kick them out of the way once they’re off.

“So, how would you like me, senpai?”

He snickers and you don’t miss the way he eyes you hungrily.

“On your back?” he suggests. You lay back across your bed, your legs hanging off the edge. You’re hard as shit, aching to touch yourself. Instead you hold the bottle of lube against your belly, warming it with your skin as you take a few deep, calming breaths.

John rolls up to you, settling your desk chair between your knees. He tugs your legs up, propping your feet on the chair to either side of his hips. You can feel his eyes on you as you dribble lube onto your fingers, watching as your hand descends between your legs. The lube’s still chilly as shit against your ass, but tolerable enough for you to push a finger into yourself without any cause for bitching.

You don’t bother drawing out your fingering, pulling your hand away after a moment to slather lube onto your vibe. You hear John gasp as you press the head of it against your hole, and he breathes hard against your knee as you push it in.

You groan at the feel of it, a little too snug with your lack of stretching. You get it in halfway, a little more than halfway, before John stammers, “Stop.” You curl your toes into the chair and stop. It’s quiet but for the sound of both of you breathing hard.

“How does it feel?” He whispers.

You swallow hard and gasp, “Good, real good, fuck.”

“Okay. Keep going.”

You don’t hesitate to obey, pushing the toy a little deeper before pulling it out, almost all the way. You angle it up just a little with the next inward stroke, biting your lip as it brushes against your prostate.

John’s clutching hard at one of your thighs, his face pressed against your knee as he pants, watching you. You can feel the brush of his other arm against your ankle as he jerks off and you are so fucking chuffed that he’s enjoying the show.

You give the vibe a couple more long, slow strokes before you nudge it against your prostate, rubbing at it with the tip. You want to actually turn the vibe on, but John hasn’t told you so, so you don’t.

“Can I?” He asks after a while of watching you twitch. His fingers brush over yours and you relinquish to toy to his control.

He drags it across your prostate when he pulls it out, and you curse, your hips jerking up. He pushes it back in with a twist of his wrist that has you squirming, and then he’s repeating the motions, over and over, fucking you with a powered down vibe that you really wish he’d replace with his dick.

And then he flicks it on.

You shout in surprise, grinding down on his hand and the vibe as it buzzes in you. You’re dimly aware of John whispering, “Oh wow,” as you whimper.

“Fuck, please, please,” you beg, clawing at your blanket and the towel you’re half sitting on, “Please fuck me, please, John, John, _please_.”

He keeps the vibe pointed at your prostate and you’re not even sure how he keeps finding it but _shit_ you are really not going to complain, not with how good it feels. You’re no where near the point where you’ll come just from this, but you’re so far gone past desperate it’s not even funny and you fucking _need_ him to fuck you.

Instead, he lets go of the vibe and leans over you, pressing his thumb against your lips. You let him push it into your mouth, parting your teeth so he can stroke your tongue. He groans when you suck on the digit, wedging one of your thighs against his hip. You automatically wrap the other leg around his thigh, your heel tucked against the back of his knee, and you whine, “Fuck me, fuck me, please.”

His hand on your dick is almost a good compromise. You’re already shaking from the vibe in your ass happily buzzing away, and he’s almost rough as he jerks you off, his thumb pinning your tongue to the bottom of your mouth. You squirm, thighs clenched around his hips to give you leverage. You’re like the world’s most uke bucking bronco, begging with every breath until he slides his hand down your throat and you shudder, snapping your teeth shut. His palm is gentle against your windpipe, just enough pressure to voice intent but giving you all the option to not go along.

You go along.

You arch your back, tilt your chin up until you’ve pressed your neck so hard against his palm that, even without any pushing from him, your breath is raspy and ragged. You stare up at him with half lidded eyes, and you can feel your pulse thumping in your throat, against his hand. He looks stunned that you’re actually into this. The two of you had discussed it before, and he had been surprised at your enthusiastic fuck yes then too, but he looks completely flabbergasted now that he’s actually fucking choking you.

You help him along, grabbing his wrist to push his hand down.

He lets out a low groan as your eyes flicker shut. Your ears are full of the sound of your own laboured breathing, air wheezing in and out and you’re deliciously light headed.

His fingers tighten just a bit, not constricting your air any further but digging into the muscles of your neck as he squeezes. You feel him lean in, feel his breath across your face as he whispers, “Fuck, you’re perfect.” You whimper in return, nodding just a little, as much as you can. It’s almost too much. Your thoughts are going a little fuzzy around the edges, more than usual, and your lungs burn from your lack of oxygen.

“Come for me, Dave.”

You do, clawing at his arm, bucking your hips into his hand. He releases his grip on your throat and you sob, gulping down air as you shiver through the last of your orgasm. You barely get a second to catch your breath before he’s dragging you up and off the bed. You follow limply, even as your knees slam on the floor painfully because he’s pressing his glorious, wonderful, amazing dick against your lips and you did good, so good, you did just right and now you get to have your reward.

He fucks your face, hard and fast but shallow enough so you can breath and you think you turned your vibe up when you hit the floor. You don’t even try to suck at him, clawing at his hips while your legs tremble and your insides vibrate and he’s petting your head as he thrusts into your face because you did _good_.

His come floods your mouth as he hisses your name and you moan around him. You can feel it dribbling down your chin and you can feel the way his dick pulses on your tongue. He pulls out of your mouth to smear his spunk across your lips and you take the opportunity to swallow unimpeded, licking your teeth and the head of his dick. You whine when he pulls away completely, thumb rubbing roughly up your chin to push back into your mouth. You suck the come from his finger, popping your mouth off it when you’re done and he repeats action, making sure you get every last drop of him.

All the while he’s murmuring at you quiet words of reassurance, over and over, “That was perfect, you’re so perfect, I love you, you’re wonderful, that was good, you did so good.”

He kisses you hard, touching your face and your neck and your shoulders and you’re achingly hard still so you push his hand between your thighs. You sob into his mouth when he jerks you off, his hand gentle but you’re so overstimulated it hurts and you want to come again but you don’t think you can. He lets you crawl into his lap, pressing continuously closer until he’s lying on the floor and you’re straddling his waist, your face pressed into his neck.

His hand never leaves your dick. You tremble and beg for something you can’t name and he just reaches behind you, pulls the vibe out for you and you’re empty and aching and you wish he would fuck you, fill you back up. He whispers your name, shooshes you, tells you he loves you over and over until you’re legit crying, clutching at the front of his shirt because the fucker’s still dressed and he’s so fucking perfect and he holds you close even as you get snot and jizz all over his clothes.

You feel the rumble of John talking and you can’t gather the fucks needed to pay attention to what he says. You do hear the door opening, flinching as your brother walks in the room. John runs a hot hand down your back, nuzzling your temple. Dirk sets something down on your desk and says, “Lemme know if you need anything,” before walking back out.

You get in a couple more shuddering breaths before you keen, sobbing again, and John giggles. He presses his lips to every bit of his face he can reach, down your neck and across your shoulder. He hushes you some more, pulls you into a hug so tight you think you could crawl into his skin with him.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to you, “Your brother brought me a washcloth. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You let him roll you over, let him pick you up and place you on your bed. You rub the tears from your eyes and sniffle. Your face feels like it’s full of cotton and you’re fucking _exhausted_ so you just lie there while he runs a wet washcloth over you, wiping snot from your face and spunk from your crotch. He kisses you gently as he does; the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, the hollow of your throat and the bar through your navel, and the tip of your dick where you’re so sensitive you almost can’t stand it. When he comes back up from cleaning away the lube between your thighs and your ass cheeks, he presses his forehead against yours and you sigh happily.

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, hand floating disconnected from the rest of you until it finds his face. Your throat feels like one big bruise and you want to sleep for years but you’re okay. Definitely okay. More than okay. You rub your thumb along his cheekbone and he gives a tiny little chuckle.

Two drops of wet hit your face, one right after the other on either side of your nose. You startle, blinking your eyes open. He’s smiling at you and his eyes are wet and pink rimmed.

“That was intense,” he whispers at you, giggling again. You nod, slowly, and tilt your face up to kiss him. It’s gentle, but his hand pressed against the back of your head shakes with desperation. “That was good, you were so good, thank you, thank you -- “ he kisses you again, harder, “ -- you were perfect, thank you.”

“Go get cleaned up and come to bed.”

He grins; “Yessir.”

He comes back in just his boxers, wrapping you up in his arms with one of your xbox controllers in hand. You watch stupid Disney movies until you pass out as he feeds you chocolate and kisses your fingertips.

**=== >**

Dirk’s still home when you stumble out to the kitchen in the morning, bleary eyed and wrapped in John’s hoodie. The coffee’s still hot when you pour yourself a cup and lukewarm when you’re done adding the creamer and you hunch around your mug as you sip on it.

“Jesus quit with your gross slurping,” Dirk grumbles at you, back for his second cup. He stops short when he actually looks at you, flipping his shades up. “Holy son of a tit, kid, you better be wearing a turtleneck or something today.”

You squint at him, confused, because the last of your hickies faded ages ago and you don’t remember John fucking with your neck an--

Your hand flies to your throat and you wince when you prod at a bruise. “Is it bad?”

“I count three fingers and a thumb.”

“Shit. Dark?”

“As sin.”

“Shit.”

They feel low enough on your neck to be easy to hide, at any rate, and you’ve got enough collared shirts to last you until they fade.

“John’s gonna shit himself when he sees,” you muse, dazed, “He flipped out when I told him my shoulder dislocated one time.”

“So he knows about the EDS?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s expecting me to look like I survived attempted murder, holy shit.” You peer at yourself in the back of your coffee spoon. Your reflection is warped but there’s no mistaking the dark smudges on your neck as anything but fuckballs intense bruising. Dirk snickers at you.

“He’s a good kid, I like him.”

“You just like him ‘cause he cooks.”

“Yeah, but if you ain’t careful, I’ll steal him away with my rugged charms.”

You snort and punch him in the shoulder.

“Ow, dick.”

“You’re too old for him,” you grumble.

“Yeah, and you’re no spring chicken.”

“And he’s not your type.”

“Maybe I’ve suddenly developed a taste for kawaii little shotas.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You go back to slurping at your coffee, glaring at your brother definitely. He rolls his eyes and finally gets around to pouring his second cup, hip checking you out of the way when he needs the creamer.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yep,” he grins brightly, “That’s my job.”

**=== >**

John, predictably, freaks out over the state your neck is in, fussing over you as he apologizes and you literally have to punch Dirk to prove how easily you bruise.

“It’s the Ehlers-Danlos,” you assure him, “I’ve got super fucked up joints and really thin skin and shitty vision. It’s not a big deal.”

“Jesus Christ, is there anything else about this I should know?”

He sounds half hysterical, pressed up close to you while he touches the bruises he left you with. You shrug.

“I don’t have the organ-rupturing kind, so..” you shrug again and John’s voice climbs up a whole octave when he screeches, “There’s a kind that does that?!”

Dirk flips you the bird over the back of the couch and you snicker.

“Yeah, dude, it’s cool, you don’t have to worry about that, my organs are all okay, the docs checked.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I don’t know, I was like, eight when all the testing was done.”

“Then how can you _know_?”

Dirk pipes in with, “Wrong mutation, no aortic abnormality.”

“See,” you tell John, “He knows. It’s okay, calm your tits.”

He kisses each bruise repeatedly throughout the day and Dirk makes gagging noises every time.

**=== >**

John’s a giggly drunk, you find, and a lightweight, stumbling along next to you while you walk the few blocks between the bar you hit up for food and Meenah’s shop. The Antevorta is empty up front, apart from Aranea, when you walk through the door and John stares around in awe. You let him -- he’s safe enough in here.

“Hi Dave,” Aranea calls, leaning over the counter with a wide, blue smile, “Here for Meenah?”

You salute, “You know it.”

“Great! Oh, your order came in just in time too.” She pulls a box out from under the counter and slides it over. You hop onto the counter to sit next to her while you wait for Meenah. “Your boyfriend’s cute,” she says, watching as he stares at all the flash on the wall.

“My boyfriend is shitfaced,” you tell her, snickering. He’s definitely cute though, standing out as a definite boy next door against the crisp black and jade green of the shop.

“Wow tattoo parlors are totally cool,” he says, to no one. Meenah snorts as she exits the back room.

“Don’t let Por hear you say that, kid. This is a _gallery_.”

You snort, “Yeah, parlor is too vintage.”

“You are aware that I can hear you, correct?” Porrim glides out of her office. “Hello Dave, here again?”

You flick your fingers at her in a wave with a matching grin and follow Meenah back into her booth. John stops you on your way, grabbing your arm to pull you into a sloppy kiss.

“Good luck,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“I’ll be done in like, two minutes, you dork.”

Meenah smirks at you when you enter her booth, her teeth extra pointy, and hands you a cup of salt water to rinse your mouth out with.

“So that’s who you’ve got your fronds all over,” she teases, snapping on her gloves. You plop into her chair and roll your eyes, and she wiggles her clamps at you. You stick your tongue out at her and she snorts, “He’s a cutie.”

You glance over at him, over the partition for Meenah’s booth, and grin. “Yeah, he’s kawaii as fuck.”

“So you ready to do this?”

“Yep, let’s go, fish face.”

You stick your tongue back out on queue, poking it up to touch your omega so she can see the underside. You feel the poke of her marker and then she has you straighten it again to fix the clamp on.

“Ow,” you grumble.

“You glubbin’ wuss.”

She slides the needle through quick and painless and fits you with jewelry. You’re done just as quick as you told John, and you didn’t even bleed.

You look back over to where John is and groan. Porrim’s sat next to him with a sketchbook while he rambles, making big, drunken gestures.

“Oh no.”

Meenah follows your gaze and cackles. Porrim shows John whatever it is she was doodling and he shouts, “Yes, that!”

“Fuck.”

You stride over to where Por’s nudged John towards Aranea to pay. She shows you his page of doodles in her sketchbook, tapping one design with an elegant finger.

“It seems to have deep, personal meaning to him,” she says and you sigh. It’s a nice design. You like the composition and her chicken scratch handwriting marks it to be done in pale blue and white. For a drunken tattoo idea, it’s a good one.

“Okay. Iif he regrets it, the blame’s all on you.”

Her smirk is devious and John’s grin is blinding.

You go with, crunching on ice Aranea provides you while you hold his hand. It takes a couple of hours, Porrim’s hand steady across his shoulder as she fills in all the shapes with her characteristic, interlocking designs, geometric swirls of blue and white that are vivid against his tan skin.

John falls asleep on the table towards the end and jolts awake when she swats his thigh.

You’ve heard the aftercare speech often enough to have it memorized and you promise to relay it to John when he wakes up, a bag full of supplies in hand.

He passses out as soon as you get him home and you give up trying to undress him after you get his pants off.

**=== >**

You wake up to John whining and scratching at his shoulder. You smack his hand away with a mumbled, “Don’t do that,” and he groans.

“Why do I itch?” he grumbles, wiggling his shoulder when you don’t let him scratch.

“You are spectacularly outgoing when you’re inebriated,” you tell him.

“Oh god, what’d I do?”

“Got a tattoo.”

He groans again, cursing, and sticks his head under one of your pillows.

“I didn’t.”

“You did. It’s pretty cool, if it’s any consolation.”

He squints at you out of one eye, and his eyebrow is fluffed up at the end from sleeping on his face.

“You sound weird.”

You stick your tongue out at him, careful of the bar through it.

“Why didn’t I do something removable,” he sighs to himself, pillow back over his head.

“It really is pretty cool looking,” you tell him, “All birds and clouds and deep, personal meaning, apparently. It looks good.”

“But it itches!”

“At least you can talk without sounding like a dumbass.”

He finally rolls over, pulling you to his chest, and he croons, “You don’t sound like a dumbass.”

“I think I have a lisp.”

“You don’t have a lisp,” he laughs.

“I have a lisp. I am now three hundred percent gayer.” He snickers and you wiggle out of his grip. “C’mon, I gotta teach you aftercare.”

You drag him off to the bathroom and have him pull his shirt off, turning on the sink to warm up water. He whines as the movement stretches his fresh tattoo, grumbling as you pick at the tape holding the edges of the bandage down. You press a wet washcloth against the bandage, soaking it through so you can peel it off. Then you open the soap Porrim sent with you, lathering up the washcloth. John hums as you wash his back -- how he got a smear of blue down at his tailbone, you don’t know, but you may have to have words with Por about it.

It still looks good and, now that you actually think about it, it suits him. You rinse the soap off and pat him dry.

When you’re done, John twists to look over his shoulder, leaning in towards the mirror. He squints at his reflection and says, “I can’t see it.”

You snort, laughing, and let him go get his glasses. He pulls the same contortion when he gets back.

“Oh. That’s pretty neat, actually.”

“Told you.”

You run through the last of the aftercare directions, handing him the bottle of lotion to match the soap. The rest of your day is spent ogling your shirtless boyfriend.

**=== >**

He goes with you when you return to have Meenah swap out your barbell a week and a half later, and he spends the time staring at the flash again. On your way back out, he whispers to you, wide eyed, “I think I might want another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do intend to work more in this 'verse, and I am open to idea suggestions 'cause mostly I'm just fucking around. You can hit me up here in the comments or my askbox at sumomomochi.tumblr.com :3


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